More Than A Monster
by Halcyon Electric
Summary: True beauty is more than skin deep. Legend of Zelda adaptation of Beauty and The Beast. Cover Art by Colleen-TJ.
1. Chapter 1

"Must you go, Papa?"

The crestfallen voice coming from behind the large, mustachioed man halted his working hands immediately. He felt his large heart sink and his brow droop as a familiar sweet scent pervaded his nostrils, gently evicting the heavy, musty scent the small stable usually carried. His hands sorrowfully slid down the side of the leather saddlebag he had been packing as he released a breath of defeat, and he kicked himself for not being as stealthy as he originally planned.. The man turned his head slightly, so he would be able to see the vibrant red hair and slim figure of the girl behind him, without her being able to see the look of sorrow perched upon his face. The deep timbre of his voice matched the lowness of his heart in his chest as he said softly and hoarsely,

"Malon, sweetie, what're you doin' up so late? Shouldn't you be in bed by now?"

The girl called Malon crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders in the chill of the evening, her tanned skin of her goose-pimpled arms nearly glowing in the light of the candle her father had set on the ground near him. Her tone was gentle, but contained a slight edge of anger in it.

"I think I could be asking you the same thing, Papa. Why do you even have to go? And in the middle of the night no less."

The man chuckled, a deep, almost purring sound. His daughter reminded him so much of her mother: stubborn as a mule, maybe even over-bearing, but all the while meaning the best. He shook his head as a sorrowful grin crept across his face. He could easily make out the eye-brow-raise of a reaction he received from his daughter out of his peripheral vision.

"Malon, we talked 'bout this. I told you yesterday I'd to be headin' out tonight to meet with the Gerudos about our milk quotas. You and I both know we need this bidness, with the way milk prices have been droppin' and the price of purdy much everything else shootin' to high heav'n."

The red-head furrowed her brow and scowled while straightening her neck to almost glare down at her father. "_Yep,"_ the rancher confirmed internally,_ "just like her mama."_

"I heard you when you told me the first time. I just didn't want to believe it. Why do you hav'ta go? What can't Uncle Ingo go meet with the Gerudos? You've been working yourself to death lately!"

Both father and daughter noticed a couple of the horses stir in their sleep at the sound of Malon's increasing volume. Malon closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She already got in trouble because of her temper far too often, and didn't want to add tonight to the list. Her frustrated visage quickly dropped to one of grief and ashamedness as her father slowly about-faced away from the horse he had been loading and towards his daughter. He took two large yet gentle strides towards Malon, his boots softly crunching on the hay that littered the earthen floor of the stable. He placed an enormous, hairy-knuckled, and calloused hand on his daughter's nightgown-adorned shoulder. His daughter attempted to turn her eyes from her father's, but halted as he gently took her small chin between the thumb and index finger of his unoccupied hand. Both gazed into eyes identical to their own, the seemingly-only thing that the two of them shared physically. The corners of the rancher's eyes crinkled as he looked into the clear blue eyes of his baby girl.

"I know you don't want me ta go, darlin'. Believe me, neither do I. But we need this. You know that. You're a smart girl, smarter than me at least, and I know you can manage here by yourself for a couple days." The large man whispered to his daughter, as if this were all classified information.

A look of hopeless desperation dipped into the azure eyes of Malon, turning them from a robin's-egg blue to a somber navy. Her voice was hoarse with emotion as she pleaded in a whisper,

"Then please, Papa, let me go with you! I don't want to be here by myself! And I've got a bad feeling about this, Papa, and…I…I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt out there…" All frustration and snark was gone from Malon's voice now. All that remained was concern and helplessness. In response to Malon's change of tone, her father's changed as well; while still gentle, he adopted an edge of authority and even slighter annoyance.

"Now you listen ta me, little lady. You're almost 22 years old now; you're practically a grown woman! I need ya ta be my strong soldier for the next couple'a days. Ya can't change that I'm goin', but ya can change how you act while I'm gone. I need ya strong to take care o'the ranch while I'm away. It'll be yours someday, so just think of it a practicin' for the big times. Can ya do that, Mal? For your old man?"

Malon, though still unhappy, slapped on a smile and embraced her father.

"You always know what to say, Papa. You, Talon Lonlon, are the best father in the whole world."

"And you, Malon Lonlon, and the best daughter in the world."

The two broke the embrace after a tender moment, and they then began to finish her father in loading the horse's saddlebags with clothing, blankets, food, and the like, while Talon attached his long knife from his days as a Royal knight to his belt. As the last items were loaded, Talon broke the almost 15-minute silence:

"So, if I leave right away, I reckon I should make it to Gerudo Mesa by midday day tommora'." Malon began to protest, but thought better of it, simply stating,

"You need to be careful out there, Papa. You know those Gerudo thieves are everywhere out there."

Talon rolled his eyes and grinned toothily, "All right, mama hen, you need ta quit yer pickin'. I'm gonna be fine, especially with Loubi here to protect me. After 23 years, he hasn't let me down yet." The loaded horse snorted softly in response, and Talon affectionately patted the old horse's neck.

The knight-turned-farmer-turned father then mounted his horse with ease, turned to place a small kiss onto his daughter's head, and gave the horse's hind quarter a slight nudge of encouragement. And with that, Talon Lonlon and Loubi advanced into the starlit night, eventually disappearing from the view of the observing Malon.

With a final sigh, a wave of exhaustion washed over Malon. Recognizing her need for immediate rest, Malon scooped up the shortening candle on the ground and carried it back into the farmhouse, up the stairs, and to her average-sized bedroom. She then placed the candle and holder on the small table beside her bed and lay down, gazing into the candle's cozy light. It was then her worry threatened to overtake her once again.

_"Maybe I should just follow him,"_ she pondered to herself,_ "I doubt he'll notice until it's too late _to_ say no." _Malon smiled smugly to herself. She WAS smarter than her old man. Suddenly, as she began to sit up, an image appeared in her mind: the image of her father: her big, strong, built-like-a-bear father looking into her eyes, pretty much begging her to stay. How could she say no that that? Her pride defeated, Malon decided that her father's absence wouldn't be as bad as her runaway imagination made it seem. She had always had a knack of letting her imagination get the best of her, but she was a grown woman know. It was time to grow up.

"_Besides",_ Malon pondered as consciousness faded and she extinguished the candle's warm light, _"he's only going to be gone a couple of days, right?"_

Wrong. She could not have been more wrong.

**A/N: Hello everyone, and thank you for taking the time to read this story. I know this chapter was pretty lacking in Friendship or Romance, but I needed to get this in there somehow. Please remember, reviews are the greatest gift an author can give another author, so please review! Concrit, flames, praise, I take it all! **

**Also, I'm reaching out to all of you readers for an OC to use in this story. I'm looking for a male character who can be a person who has his romantic sights set on poor Malon. Please help me with that! If you have an idea, please send me a review with his appearance, personality, and background information in a review or a PM (preferred). Thanks again for reading!**

**-Hal**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: First, I would like to thank everyone for reading this story. It really means so much to me. **

**Next, this story would not be possible without the patience and support of my beta reader, Colleen-TJ. She is very talented writer and an awesome person, so check out some of her work when you're done here. Emphasis on "when you're done here".**

**This chapter, unlike the first, is from the perspective of the titular monster, just so everyone's clear.**

**Remember, reviews are the greatest gift a writer can give to another writer. Did you see something you liked? Did you see something you didn't like? Please drop a review and let me know!**

**Just because I know someone's going to try to bust my chops about this, _no,_ the "Girl on Fire" referenced later on has_ zero connection_ with the nickname of Katniss Everdeen from the Hunger Games books. She is an OC character I am currently writing about in another story. The character's title is instead derived from the Alicia Keyes song of the same name, because it really inspired me to keep going with the idea after I was going to give it up. It will all make sense later. **

**Lastly, if you're like me, you like to listen to music while listening to fan fiction. In response, I am asking everyone who reads this to either a) send me a song that reminds you of this story that someone could hear and even more fully understand the story, or b) send me a song that you are listening to when reading this story. How did you feel while reading this story? The music probably had some part in that. Please let me know via either review or PM. This is for a project called "FF Jukebox" so please contribute and make yourself heard!**

**Note: I own no characters in this story.**

**Happy Reading!**

Sand. Coarse, orange sand. For miles and miles, sand was all that could be seen on the parched landscape. The wind had carved and chiseled away at the sand, leaving a flowing network of dunes, crests, and troughs as their ever-changing masterpiece. This vast ocean of sand could be described as beautiful yet dangerous, like a dehydrated rose with spines seeping venom. It was harsh, unforgiving, and almost devoid of life.

Almost.

Somehow or another, a race of people had lived and flourished for thousands of years in this desert. This group of people had been shaped by the desert winds and harsh sun as the desert itself had been, making them callous to the petty needs and desires of their cousins to the far east, the Hylians. The all-encompassing light of the sun had changed them so, that it became difficult to show any relationship between the Hylians and the great desert people. Their skin had become darkened and burnt by the sun's powerful rays, deepening its hue from a snow white to a thick and vibrant color greatly resembling that of the sand that made up their homeland. The hair and been bleached by the goddess Din's throne, the sun, and changed from a thick and mysterious brown like the bark of trees to a fiery red.

The Great Mother of these people, known to many as the Gerudo Desert, was a cruel mistress, and had in her ways further separated her children from their ancestors in mannerism. The desert contained little to no natural resources in most areas, with the exceptions being the saving grace of a handful of small oases. In response, the people of the desert had become thieves, pillaging small Hylian villages and traders' caravans in order to gain supplies, food, and water. In addition, they began to neglect the gods of their ancestry, notably two of the Mother Goddesses, Nayru, matron of water, and Farore, matron of the winds and of life, for damning them to a life constantly endangered by things that would be minor annoyances to their neighbor's to the east. They instead clung to the Goddess of fire and earth Din. It was believed that Din held the desert people in Her strong arms, preventing them from becoming extinct. Whether this was true or not, the people of Gerudo survived against almost insurmountable odds. Such was the way of the Gerudo.

All except one.

There was one Gerudo who did not spend their time under the oppressive desert sun.

There was one Gerudo who did not steal and pillage.

Just one.

...

The man had stood in this place many times before. It was his favorite place to think. It seemed to him that the winds of the desert brought wisdom to him from the desert itself through the open arching window. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and his golden eyes gazed out across the thirsty geography of his kingdom, never stopping to rest on any specific point on the horizon.

He was garbed in attire that spoke volumes of his status. Black iron armor emblazoned with the Gerudo crest adorned his body, giving his already staggering stature an even larger appearance. Oddly, a golden jewel, suitably named the Eye of Din, was mounted upon his forehead and attached to his head by an intricate series of leather straps that ran through his crimson hair. Its proud perch on the young man's head proclaimed to the world that this man was a Son of Din, a man chosen by the Goddess of Power Herself to lead Her people as their king.

Except that he was king only in title.

Calling this man a king would almost be making a mockery of him. The title of king usually implied subjects to rule, a dominion to control, and decisions to make. However, there were none of these in the dehydrated Gerudo desert for the man.

Just sand.

The restlessly gazing monarch could literally see nothing other than sand for miles upon miles. That was how truly far he was from the rest of civilization. What he expected to see on the horizon than the vast plains of orange even he did not know. A person perhaps? Or even some living creature? The Gerudo king understood fully well that there would be nothing, but each day he would look, for hours at a time on occasion, perennially looking for _something._

With a deep heaving sigh, the Gerudo male turned about on his heel, causing the dark armor to groan at the change in position. After one last dejected look at the ever shifting, ever vacant sands, the Gerudo male shook his head as he did every day. He then proceeded to delve once again into the dark, thick air of his fortress' corridors.

Each stride the young man took displayed the power contained within his body. His large, muscular arms swung slightly as he walked, causing his powerful and incredibly broad shoulders to roll smoothly. His thick, toned legs flexed slightly as he moved in order to hold his substantial weight off of the ground. His large, calloused hands were slightly clenched into relaxed fists. His breathing was a deep and confident rhythm, treating the clean air as the treasure it was. Even his face was an exhibition of the strength the young man possessed. A pair of piercing golden eyes was separated by a rather large nose, enormous yet proportional and his jaw was square and strong.

His armor creaked and scraped against itself with each stride he took, creating an awkward cacophony that had initially severely annoyed the young king, but had become a necessary evil involved with movement that he had simply become accustomed to. The grating sounds echoed off of the adobe walls of the hall, its sound grating against the thick, dank darkness that encompassed him, creating a sinister and foreboding atmosphere. As the young man began his descent down the steps at the end of the hall, his armor shrieked a louder and higher pitch, and the earthen steps began to groan under his weight. He took each step methodically and evenly, as if each step was of great importance.

As the Gerudo male continued his trek through his fortress, he began to ponder what the next few days held. In merely three days, it would be the man's twenty-sixth summer. Usually in Gerudo culture, the twenty-sixth summer was an occasion of great importance, as the sacred number of Mother Din, and the year Gerudo adolescents were finally considered adults in society. Reaching such an age for a typical Gerudo was often considered to be an amazing milestone, as only sixty percent of Gerudo survived past the age of four summers in their harsh, unforgiving environment. Even fewer lived to fifteen summers, since the Gerudo people were already fighting wars and having children at the age of thirteen.

This day would also mark the young Gerudo's tenth summer alone in this god-forsaken fortress. The Gerudo male had not seen another human face in almost half of his lifetime. He understood why, but could still not accept it. His face twisted into a fowl grimace as he recalled the day, so many years ago, upon which his mother had possessed no second thoughts in sending her son away to die. He did not understand why the change had occurred, and the vast majority of his fellows were as ignorant as he was, but it had happened, and not even the great elders had any idea of how to reverse it. One day, he had been a friend, a brother, a king. The next, he was a threat, a freak,

A monster.

The young king scowled at the word, his eyes full of pain and hatred, and his pace quickened, the darkness he so loathed yet embraced parting before him. He shook his head as he walked and growled deeply, a feral sound resembling those by an angered lion, in an attempt to dispel the disgusting thoughts.

The Gerudo rounded a corner sharply, his armored shoulder grating against the ancient stone wall. He ducked his head past a lopsided section of the ceiling as his destination came into sight. As the man grew nearer, he could easily view a pair of grand wooden doors, each door depicting an image of the Goddess Din as well as the Gerudo crest. The doors, as grand and large as they were, were easily pushed aside by the young man's powerful yet gentle shove. He slipped past the door as it slid shut with a groan of age.

Just beyond the great wooden goddesses was the library, a place where kings millennia ago had pondered the great questions of Gerudo life. The library itself was not entirely impressive in appearance. Cobwebs and piles of sand, ranging in age to a few days to thousands of summers, were strewn about the dark and musty landscape, quite effectively portraying the vast library's considerable age. But its contents were rather astounding. Bookshelves hundreds of feet high lined every wall of the octagonal room. Thousands of tomes and books in various languages filled the simple adobe bookshelves, ranging from the Goron epic entitled "The Hammer of Justice" to the Hylian fairytale of "The Hero of Time". The king viewed all of them, a slight smirk dancing its way across his face.

"I've read all of them," the king whispered to himself in arrogant awe. "Of course, I've been here awhile, with plenty of free time." The man's voice escalated, his nonchalant tone echoing between the enormous walls. He had realized long ago that he could speak with himself freely now. The alternative was to go mad. "Besides," he continued, "it's not like there is anyone here to cast judgment."

After the young Gerudo had finished his self-directed monologue, he strode confidently to the large adobe desk and sat rather heavily on the sand-concrete bench behind him. Despite being fit to provide the largest of the ancient Gerudo kings with plenty of room to spare, the desk's lower cavity was a rather tight pinch for the young man, given his monstrous stature. At almost eleven-feet tall, the young man far surpassed even the largest of Gerudos or Goron. He could say such things with confidence, as he had read the hundreds of census books in his library. Several times.

The young man drew his lips into a slightly pained smile as his eyes drifted downwards to the single book that adorned the desk's dusty surface. It was bound in thick red leather. Its pages were worn and yellow and smelled heavily of wine and mothballs. Its title was written in an elegant swooping text that glittered gold. It was a simple phrase, and no author was named.

"**The Girl On Fire"**

He brushed his large hand across its smooth, cool surface lovingly, his scaly skin caressing his proudest possession. It had been his favorite book since he had first picked it up almost ten years before, on the first day of his imprisonment, and as such, he had made it a tradition to read it once a year on the days leading up to his birthday, starting three days before. He peeled back the cover with a single large finger, his brows furrowing slightly with nostalgia. His eyes rested on a story that took place hundreds of thousands of years before, before there were Hylians and Gerudo, rich and poor, hatred and fear.

Before the Curse.

As he scanned the page, his mind filled with the images of a simple young woman cast into a world of adventure beyond her wildest dreams to become the Hero of what would one day become Hyrule. Both the Gerudo and the Hylian peoples liked to trace their lineage to this legendary figure, but the Gerudo king could not have cared less. He was simply content to read of freedom and adventure.

Suddenly, a small spiral of sand fell gently from the ceiling and on to the king's nose, the pesky grains tickling his nostrils until he could contain his body no longer. A cacophony of sound exploded into the air as he wretched with a sneeze, his snout giving a powerful spasm. His hand jerked, knocking the book from its place on the desk and sending it careening on to the cold sand floor. The man's shocked-wide eyes narrowed with anger in a moment, and he thrust his tightly clenched fist down on to the desk's unwitting surface. A small tremor violently rocked the entire fortress, sending books, tapestries, and other miscellaneous objects dropping to the floor. The Gerudo's hand swiftly snatched up the book a moment later. His eyes widened with concern as he brushed off the book, scanning it for injuries and thankfully finding none.

As he gently placed the book in its rightful place on the desk again and opened it, he noticed something he hadn't before. On the first page, scrawled in black ink, was a name that had been written many years before, when the book had first graced the now-cracked desk with its glorious presence:

"Ganondorf"

The young Gerudo scanned his name repeatedly, as if he would forget it if he did not. After several last re-readings, Ganondorf heaved a heavy sigh and his gaze crept up towards the single source of light in the room. A small window had been carved in the highest pinnacle of the tower-shaped library. It was impossible to look out of, but it provided just enough natural light to allow him to read in the day. The window was more symbolic than anything. It meant that there was a world outside the thick adobe walls of the ornate prison. There was a world full of new places, new people, and new adventures that the young king could never experience. There was a world outside the fortress, and it hated this man. It put him here.

His eyes then dropped to the book, falling shut as an irritating film covered them. It painted his eyes a hideous shade of pink and almost filled his lids to their breaking point. He leaned an elbow on to the desk and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Reading this book again was like visiting a bitter old friend. It symbolized something that terrified him but provided him with bittersweet absolution. Reading this book again meant giving in to the fact that there would be no one to see on the horizon for another year. It meant living in complete solitude for even longer, with only the shadows and the long-dead heroes of his stories to keep him company.

"Besides," he spoke aloud again, a slight break in his voice, "it's just another year alone, right?"

Wrong. He could not have been more wrong.


End file.
